Archives for 2018

It angers me that a natural impulse to kiss an attractive member of the opposite sex is condemned as “toxic masculinity,” a sophomoric opinion coming from an actual sophomore who, by doing so, is engaging in toxic feminism … with the support of Princeton University.

I’ve been away from politics for several months while recovering from appendicitis, peritonitis and ileus, a horrible experience. I have grown bored of Latin America’s permanent, ongoing dumpster fires (Mexico, Venezuela, etc.) and loathe the current political atmosphere here in the USA. While I was recovering I simply could not be bothered to pay attention, much less write.Recently, however, I started paying attention to the Kavanaugh hearings, which had promptly become a clown show. During my recovery I had been reading the Ancient Greeks. The Greeks believed

that a wandering and discontented Uterus was blamed for that dreaded female ailment of excessive emotion, hysteria

The Greeks would have looked at the screaming demonstrators as proof of that theory, vagina suits or not.

Little did I know that Diane Feinstein would pull out, at the last minute, allegations of sexual assault against Judge Kavanaugh, and that not only would there be excessive emotion, there would also be talk of fake penises.

I am ashamed that the accusations are doing a disservice to real #MeToo victims. First there is Ford, who could not recall the year or the location even under cross-examination while all the people she mentioned as witnesses swear under penalty of felony they were never at the scene. In the case of Ramirez, we learn that

Richard Oh, an emergency-room doctor in California, recalled overhearing, soon after the party, a female student tearfully recounting to another student an incident at a party involving a gag with a fake penis,

The New York Times had interviewed several dozen people over the past week in an attempt to corroborate Ms. Ramirez’s story, and could find no one with firsthand knowledge. Ms. Ramirez herself contacted former Yale classmates asking if they recalled the episode and told some of them that she could not be certain Mr. Kavanaugh was the one who exposed himself.

Avenatti said he is “aware of significant evidence of multiple house parties in the Washington, D.C. area during the early 1980s, during which Brett Kavanaugh, Mark Judge and others would participate in the targeting of women with alcohol/drugs to allow a ‘train’ of men to subsequently gang rape them.”

The same people asking for an FBI investigation of the first two allegations readily believe that SIX – not one, not four, but six – FBI security clearances of Judge Kavanaugh over three decades did not come across any information at all involving Avenatti’s invented rape gang.

Then there’s the shameful spectacle of Senator Hirono telling men to shut up, as if it were up to her.

I am ashamed to hear the Senator imply that the presumption of innocence, that quaint idea of an accused being innocent until proven guilty on which our judicial system is based, flies out the window when it comes to not only one man, but to all men. Hirono is not alone; Senators Coons and Schumer sustain that there’s no presumption of innocence for Judge Kavanaugh. These so-called honorable members of the Senate would have felt right at home in the Venetian Doge’s palace with its mailboxfor

Secret denunciations against anyone who will conceal favors and services or will collude to hide the true revenue from them

A real rape had taken place but it wasn’t the one everyone was talking about. It was simultaneously a rape of Judge Kavanaugh, his family, and the American people themselves. The collateral damage was Dr. Ford, her friends, and her family. And the perpetrator was the Democratic Party, principally their Judiciary Committee members, their ranking member, and the minority leader.

Denunciation is what happens when an accusation is saved or fabricated and timedin order to damage an individual and/or process and achieve a personal or political goal regardless of the truth or validity of the facts. Denunciations have been associated with the most infamous and cruel movements and regimes in human history.
. . . But the timing, negotiation tactics and invincible callousness of the Democrat Senators have not just attempted to destroy a fine man and his family. It has also projected two women, who, by their own admissions, are confused and unsure of what they are alleging, into a moral and legal crucible they did not understand at the outset.

I am ashamed.

I am ashamed that Judge Kavanaugh cannot go to church on Sundays because protesters block the entry. I am ashamed that his daughters need bodyguards to go to school, that his wife receives death threats, that his mother and father have to endure idiot comedians calling for their son’s castration.

I am ashamed that, as Judge Kavanaugh himself said yesterday, “This conformation process has become a national disgrace.”

The combined output of the Permian and Eagle Ford is expected to rise from just 2.5 million barrels per day in 2014 to 5.6 million barrels per day in 2019, according to HSBC. That means Texas will account for more than half of America’s total oil production.

By comparison, Iraq’s daily production is seen at about 4.8 million barrels, while Iran is projected to pump 3 million. Oil supplies from Iran are likely to plunge due to tough sanctions from the United States.

I have been a ravenous reader all of my life (an average of two books per week for at least the last 40 years), and, while I do not feel the need to justify why I read any thing, there’s a story behind this selection.

Perhaps a better title would be How I got around to reading Jordan Peterson’s book.

As you know, I have been recovering from peritonitis and ileus following an appendectomy.

What you don’t know is that I lost 20+ pounds during the 10-day hospital stay that nearly did me in. I was not allowed to sleep, since the nurses came to draw blood every two hours (day and night), and every day was served foods I do not tolerate – mostly anything with soy or sugar – no matter how much I protested. Add to that dozens of pills – mostly antibiotics – on a nearly-empty stomach. By the time I left the hospital (which took some assertiveness skills, both from me and from my sister, who had stayed with me all 10 days), I could not sit up or walk unassisted and was almost totally worn down in every sense.

What I learned from that experience is
1. Hospital and medical staff are not going to hear what you say. Period.
2. Make sure to get a witness after you have your first bowel movement following surgery, or the nurses won’t believe it happened. My sister ended up having to swear it had.
3. Having loud tripe noises is a good thing.

I had stopped coloring my hair earlier this year, and when I got home and took a good look, I could not decide whether I looked more like Carol Kane in The Princess Bride, or like Marley’s ghost, because I was too thin to look like either.

The first thing I had to focus on was a return to my low-carb, high-protein “diet.” I have controlled non-diabetic hypoglycemia for the last two decades through diet alone: Nothing with added sugar, lots if green vegetables, lots of protein from meats, poultry and fish, a few berries and very very few bites of no sugar added ice cream. No juices, no pastas, no pastries. The only way to start was by having three small meals and three snacks a day. Instead of whole milk, I drank 6 ounces of whipping cream (2 ounces 3 x day) since I needed the calories. As I improved, my appetite returned.

Still, I needed a walker to walk across a room and could not sit up or get out of bed unaided for several weeks. The least effort tired me and I was lying down on a rented recliner for most of the day, since I did not want to stay in bed during daytime.

In the middle of this ordeal I had no energy to focus on anything for more than a few minutes. Trying to read a long article was exhausting. Listening to a whole concert on YouTube was impossible. Watching a movie or an opera was out of the question. Forget about researching and blogging, translating, or writing for pay.

As it happened regarding blogging, Twitter and Facebook appeared to have been hiding my blog posts for several months earlier this year. I didn’t have a chance to look into it seriously prior to my appendectomy. My blog readership was down by 80%.

On top of it, I have grown bored of Latin America’s permanent, ongoing dumpster fires ((Mexico, Venezuela, etc.) and loathe the current political atmosphere here in the USA. Excuse the language, but this image summarizes perfectly my current frame of mind when it comes to politics:

It didn’t matter, since I was too tired to be able to get worked up enough to write about anything anyway.

The downside to improving enough to feel bored was that I felt sorry for myself. In addition to the support of my family, Facebook came to the rescue, since I had received hundreds of positive messages wishing me well. Dozens of friends called, brought flowers, emailed and wrote. One morning i thanked God i was not in Puerto Rico without electricity. No more self-pity.

Back in the early 1990s when I developed hypoglycemia I had read Toughness Training for Life, which was most helpful in focusing on my goals and returning to daily good habits.

Two months into my recovery, I was well enough that I became interested in reading books again. I had been watching classical music YouTubes, and Jordan Peterson’s lectures started to show up among the “recommended” (how the algorithm works to connect the two, who knows?). I watched a few excerpts of Peterson’s lectures, which were interesting.

Toughness Training For Life and 12 Rules for Life share the same basic premise: Life is tough. Loehr approaches the daily schedule. Dr. Peterson looks at what’s inside it. Both will help get you through chaos.

Don;t pay attention to the left’s comments on Dr. Peterson. I recommended the book a few days after finishing it on a real-life friend’s Facebook thread, and in turn my friend’s former college roommate replied to me with a photo of Hitler’s Mein Kampf, followed by a derisive comment that I am “a rich white lady.”

Mein kampf aside, I have been called worse.

So do read 12 Rules For Life, especially at a time of chaos.

And make sure to have Kleenex handy for Chapter 12, where Dr. Peterson writes about his brave daughter Mikhaila.

Had a great birthday in Napa, thanks for all the nice wishes. Over a great bottle of cab I had a thought. The Age of Civility is dawning. You can’t see it from the usual suspects, but there’s a massive, growing group of people over the hate, outrage and personal attacks.

If you disrespect anybody that you run in to
How in the world do you think anybody’s s’posed to respect you
If you don’t give a heck ’bout the man with the bible in his hand
Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing
You the kind of gentleman that want everything your way
Take the sheet off your face, boy, it’s a brand new day.

If you’re walking ’round think’n that the world owes you something cause
You’re here you goin’ out the world backwards like you did when you
Put your hand on your mouth when you cough, that’ll help the solution
Oh, you cuss around women and you don’t even know their names and you
Dumb enough to think that’ll make you a big ol man

Start with respecting yourself.

Sing it, Joe,

And before you answer with whataboutitsm, remember If you don’t respect yourself
Ain’t nobody gonna give a good cahoot.

If you cannot discuss a point without descending to yelling, ad hominem and name-calling, I sincerely – in Joe’s immortal words – ain’t gonna give a good cahoot.

It may not amount to much, but at least it’s a start towards civility.